


Chemical Burns

by faithisbrokenn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Clarke is an emotional mess, F/M, Life-affirming kisses, Love Confessions, Oops I tripped and fell into angst, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Supposed to be hopeful, like my babies have the worst timing in the world, really poorly timed love confessions, this hiatus is going to kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 19:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithisbrokenn/pseuds/faithisbrokenn
Summary: She couldn’t shake the feeling that she might not make it back to the bunker, and if she didn’t, she couldn't stand the idea of the next five years with Bellamy’s blood on the floor somewhere.





	Chemical Burns

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I had imagined would happen after Clarke lets Bellamy open the bunker door, but before they leave to get Raven. This idea came to me while season 4 was still running, so obviously it sort of ignores parts of the rest of the season.

Clarke knew she didn’t have time for this, not really. Not when her people were preparing to choose those who would stay in the bunker, not when Bellamy was scrambling to gather supplies to take the rover to pick up Raven. There were a thousand and one things she could be doing, should be doing, but she couldn’t make herself do them. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she might not make it back to the bunker, and if she didn’t, she couldn't stand the idea of the next five years with Bellamy’s blood on the floor somewhere.

So she told Murphy where she was going to be and asked him to come get her when the time came to leave. He gave her a long, level look that clearly said he thought she was batshit, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything, only nodded. Turning on her heel, she went to a storage closet and found lye, a cloth and a bucket of water, and went to what in her mind had become ‘the prison cell.’

She spent the next several hours there, where she disposed of the chains that had held him and the cot that still bore some of his blood. She didn’t throw them away (she wanted to, she really did, but she couldn’t force the ever-practical part of her mind to shut up for _one fucking second_ ), but she didn’t really pay attention to where they went, either. She just wanted them out of the cell. She didn’t want any shadow, any hint of what had happened here to remain when she left. Maybe if she could get rid of the physical memory, her guilt would leave her alone.

Clarke huffed a bitter laugh at that thought. She’d lived with her demons and her memories long enough to know that wasn’t very likely.

Blood, _Bellamy’s_ blood, still spattered the concrete floor all around. Blood he’d shed because he had seen what she couldn’t. Blood he’d shed because of her. Despite all they’d done to each other, despite everything they’d survived, this threatened to undo her. She’d never been so directly responsible for his pain. She didn’t even realize she had the capability to do that to him in her. He was her _person._

_And you betrayed him_.

A shudder ran through Clarke’s body, and she dropped to the ground, almost blindly pouring lye into the water, dipping the cloth into it, and began to scrub furiously at the dried blood left on the floor. Distantly, she felt the harsh chemicals burn at her skin, but she didn’t mind. He’d bled for her, she had forced him to. So she’d return the favor.

Time didn’t register with her as she scrubbed, scrubbed long past the point where the blood finally disappeared. The knuckles and skin cracked and bled and was promptly washed away as she moved the cloth blindly across the floor. Her back and arms ached, and in some small part of her brain, that dry, clinical voice that never left her told her she was being stupid. _You’ll need your strength and your hands if you’re going to be any help to Raven_. But for once, her head was not louder than her heart. After all, her head was why the blood was on the floor.

She heard movement behind her, and tilted her head toward the entrance, not quite looking. She tried put on her “Princess” voice, the one that sounded calm and unflappable, despite the fact that she was very clearly on the edge of something. “Are they ready, Murphy?”

“Almost. Actually, he sent me down here to check on you.”

Clarke whirled around, heart in her throat. Bellamy was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, face rather carefully blank. She looked away quickly, unable to meet his flat eyes, to see the bandages at his wrists. “I’m fine,” she said, fighting to hold her voice steady. She twisted her hands slightly so that they were mostly hidden from him. “Just… just cleaning up.”

Silence. She wanted to keep scrubbing, wanted to find that numbness that she’d reached earlier, but she knew how crazy it looked. Her, scrubbing furiously at a spotless floor, hands raw and burned and bleeding. So she just rocked back on her heels, hands folding in her lap. She bit her lip to hold back the hiss of pain as she stretched the skin. He didn’t need to see that.

Except, she’d forgotten just how observant Bellamy was. Clarke heard him inhale deeply as though catching an unpleasant scent and push towards her with loud, heavy footsteps. “Clarke, is that… _what the fuck are you doing_?”

His voice came out as a hiss, and suddenly the bucket and cloth were snatched roughly from her. She couldn’t help a slight whimper as the metal of the bucket dragged against her skin, opening up a new cut as easily as a knife through wet paper. Biting her lip ferociously to prevent any further noise, she stood and turned away sharply from him, not wanting to see his face, not wanting him to see the blood.

She could still hear him cursing in the corner as he dropped the cloth into bucket and stuck his head out of the door to bark an order at whoever had come with him to “get rid of this fucking thing and get me some goddamn bandages.” Clarke couldn’t help but roll her eyes slightly. _So fucking dramatic_. She shrugged off her jacket, ignoring how cold she realized she’d become, and tucked the hand with the cut under it tightly, keeping pressure on it. She didn’t think it was a bad cut, but she didn’t need to make it worse.

And then she was spinning, spinning to face Bellamy as he yanked her around by the shoulder and glared down into her face furiously. “What the hell are you doing?” he snarled.

Clarke couldn’t hold his gaze, couldn’t meet his dark eyes as they snapped and shone down at her in fury, and strangely, concern. Couldn’t stand any sort of kindness from him, even if it was wrapped in anger. “I’m fine, Bellamy. It’s just---”

“---a chemical burn,” he snapped sarcastically. “It’s just a fucking chemical burn. On your hands. Right before we go out into a radiation-soaked hellscape to rescue a friend on a mission we may or may not come back from. And you decided to give yourself a chemical burn.”

“I didn’t decide to give myself anything,” she bit out, stung. And she hadn’t. Not really. She just hadn’t been concerned about the possibility. It seemed fair, after all, considering what she’d done to him…

Clarke turned away from him abruptly, finding her throat choked and eyes teary. _You don’t get to cry. Not for this._ But she couldn’t help it, couldn’t find air around the lump in her throat, the stone in her chest. Couldn’t squeeze her eyes hard enough to stop tears, thick and heavy, from falling from her eyes, rushing down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, crushing her jacket into her chest, trying to stop the tremors that she realized were wracking her body. She wasn’t cold. She couldn’t be cold. She couldn’t feel anything except this pain that punched through her chest like a bullet. Distantly, she thought she heard Bellamy say her name, but she couldn’t answer. She couldn’t fucking _breathe_.

Heat like a fire spread across her shoulders as she felt him drape something around her, and use his arm on her shoulders to lead her to the bench to sit. Dimly she could hear him talking, but she couldn’t really hear what he was saying, only his low voice murmuring a constant noise. She tried to follow it, tried to listen, but she could only hear the tone, the gentle concern, and she latched onto that, even as part of her screamed that she didn’t deserve it, to pull her shit together, he shouldn’t have to care for her after what she’s done.

She bent over with a low moan, squeezing her arms tighter until she felt her bones and muscles groan in protest, and still she pulled tighter. She could feel Bellamy putting his arms around her, wrapping what she now realized was his jacket around her, and pulling her into his chest, enveloping her in the heat and fire of him. She shook her head vigorously, tears flowing faster now, but he only hushed her in low, soothing tones. She thought she heard him say something like “no, no, it’s okay, it’s okay, Clarke, please,” and realized she’d been shuddering out the words “I’m sorry,” on every ragged breath she was able to pull in. She bit her lip, hard, drawing blood in an effort to stay silent.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she could feel her body tiring and ceasing to shake. The pain in her chest was still there, but it was more of a dull burn than a open wound. Tears caked her face and blood still dribbled from where she’d bitten her lip, and she could now feel with a burning pain the cuts and wounds on her hands, but she finally felt like she was returning to herself. Clarke could hear Bellamy still talking, still whispering to her in a soft, low voice, like he’d talk to the scared kids when they woke from a nightmare back at the Dropship. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not angry, come on Clarke, please, come back…”

Shuddering, she pulled herself away from him, although she pulled his jacket tighter around her. She buried her nose in the collar and breathed in the scent of gunpowder and Earth and Bellamy. She closed her eyes and felt him stand and move away from her. Heard the door open for a moment, his voice low as he spoke to whoever was waiting outside, and shut again, and his footsteps heading back to her.

Clarke jumped slightly as his dark hair entered her line of vision when he knelt in front of her knees and pried her fingers away from his jacket. She couldn’t help the hiss that left her lips as her burned skin stretched and cracked, and he glanced up at her wryly, as if to say, _What do you expect, Princess?_ So she kept her mouth shut and watched as he opened her hands and placed them gently on her knees, then pick up what looked like some kind of ointment that he’d placed along with some bandages on the bench beside her. Squeezing some into his palm, he rubbed his hands together to warm the ointment, then gently began to rub it into her hands.

Absurdly, this almost brought her to tears again, and she bit the inside of her cheek savagely to stop them. Swallowing against the slightly metallic taste that filled her mouth, she spoke quietly, embarrassed at how ragged her voice was. “Bellamy… I’m sorry.”

He glanced up at her and then went back to her hands. “Why did you do it?”

She shivered slightly, but she owed him an explanation. “I thought… I thought it was my only choice. I wanted to save our people… I didn’t think, I was so stupid, but I didn’t think---”

Bellamy shook his head impatiently. “Not that, Clarke. I know why you did that,” he added simply, like this statement of fact didn’t knock the goddamn breath out of her. “I meant, why did you do this to your hands?”

Clarke stared at him, unable to speak for a moment. “What… what do you mean, you know why I did that?”

He looked up from where he was rubbing her hands, one eyebrow quirked, half amused, half annoyed. “Clarke. I know _you._ You do what you think is best for your people, every time. You wouldn’t have done what you did otherwise. And, I guess technically, you were right.” She watched him swallow, look back at her hands. Guilt seeped into his voice as he spoke. “A lot of our people are going to die because of this. But you were also wrong, because it’s about more than saving our people. It was about saving the human race, about deserving to be saved. And you saw that, in the end.”

_No, I didn’t_ , she thought miserably. _I only thought that I couldn’t bear to shoot you._ But his faith in her was touching. And it gave her hope. That they’d be okay. Even after what she’d done to him.

Bellamy let go of her hands and picked up the bandages. She sucked in a sharp breath as he began wrapping them. “So, why did you do this to your hands?”

Clarke looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I couldn’t… We’re leaving soon, and we may not make it back, but… I couldn’t…” The lump in her throat was back, and she tried to force words past it. Tried to force air past it.

Bellamy let go of the bandages for a moment and reached up and placed a hand gently on her cheek, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Breathe, Clarke. Please. C’mon, Princess, you’re stronger than this.”

She leaned her cheek into his palm for a moment, pulling strength from his belief. She didn’t feel strong, but she chose, if just for a moment, to believe him. She pulled in a harsh breath and forced herself to speak. “I didn’t want to leave, knowing your blood was still on the ground. I didn’t want it to still be there in five years. I guess… I guess I thought if I could get rid of the physical evidence of what I’d done, maybe… maybe I could stop…” She couldn’t finish. Even speaking it, she knew how ridiculous it was.

Bellamy blinked up at her, then quickly lowered his eyes to the bandages. He seemed to be taking awhile doing it. “And the lye?”

Clarke raised and lowered a shoulder carelessly, hopelessly. “You bled, too.”

Bellamy went very still for a moment, hands tightening around her wrists. It hurt but she kept quiet, watching him as he relaxed after a moment. He finished wrapping her hands, and then took her by the wrists and stood, pulling her up with him. He was silent, and Clarke only stared at his chest, at the shirt stretched across muscle and brown skin and freckles like stars. Finally, he reached up and chucked her underneath her chin, making her look at him. When she did, she almost couldn’t breathe again, for his eyes were gentle, soft, and kinder than she had any right to. Warm with affection, with… she couldn’t say it, she didn’t deserve it, but she could see the heat in his gaze, could feel where it snuck past her guard and wrapped around her cold heart that shivered painfully inside her chest. “Clarke.”

She could only look at him, fear and hope and something that felt a lot like love choking off any response from her. He sighed, and raised her bandaged hands to his mouth, kissing them gently, like he could kiss away the pain. She closed her eyes against the kindness he was showing her. “If you need forgiveness, I can give that to you.” Her eyes snapped open, staring at him. “I forgive you.”

And just like that, Clarke was crying. But this was different than before. Her tears were softer, gentler, healing instead of breaking. He pulled her into his chest and held her, rocked her as she wept for the girl who came out of the drop ship. The girl who had died three times, when she killed Finn, when she pulled the lever at Mt. Weather, and when she’d let Lexa go in the City of Light, only to find that she hadn’t saved her people after all. The girl who was hadn’t been able to be a girl since she was sent to Earth as a sacrificial lamb by her own people, and who had been wearing that mantle ever since.

She also cried for the boy who had never been able to have a childhood, a boy who’d become a brother, father, and protector when he was barely six years old. A boy who had sacrificed so much to save his sister, to save his people. She cried for everything they could have been had the world not been coming to an end. She cried because she didn't have time to be crying, and what kind of world was it when you didn't have time to _feel_? 

She leaned away from him, and Bellamy loosened his arms easily, like he hadn’t just held her for the second time that day as she totally lost it. “I’m sorry,” she laughed, wiping her eyes. “We don’t have time for this.”

She could almost hear him roll his eyes. “Well we definitely wouldn’t have had time in the rover. Better now than then.”

She smiled up at him, and on impulse, took his hands and lifted his bandaged wrists to her mouth. She kissed one and then the other, gently, trying to pour all of the apology she could into it. When she looked back up up at him, something spiked inside her stomach as she saw Bellamy’s eyes widen and darken. He took a step closer to her, closing the distance between them to a mere hair’s breadth. “Clarke…”

Fear shot through her, the same fear that made her stop him at the riverside. She took a step back, dropped his wrists and looked away. “Bellamy, don’t…”

This time, though, he didn’t listen. He followed her, crowding her space, and reached up to cup his hands in her face. “Clarke, we could die today.” He didn’t say it to cause more fear, she knew. Sadly, he stated it like the fact they both know it was. “And I don’t… I don’t want to die without you knowing.”

Tears threatened to spill again, and she closed her eyes tightly. She’d spent too much time crying as it was. “Bellamy, please…”

His thumbs stroked her cheekbones lightly, brushed a feather-light touch across her lower lip. But he stayed silent until she finally opened her eyes to look up at him. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the warmth, the tenderness, the love shining in his eyes. Love she knew she was reflecting back at him. Love they’d been dancing around for months. “I love you, Clarke Griffin. And if one of us dies, or if we all die, I don’t want to go wherever we go next knowing I never told you that.”

Clarke couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. The world was going to end in twenty three hours. But Bellamy loved her. And finally, for once in her life, without guilt or fear, she could say, “And I love you.”

His smile stole her breath away, and when he lowered his mouth to hers, Clarke decided that breathing probably wasn’t necessary anyway. The kiss was sweet, tender, gentle, everything the life they lived was not. And while her heart sped up and she felt desire pool like molten lava in her stomach, this kiss was not about that. It was life-affirming, it was a promise. When they broke away, she smiled gently up at him. “Now we have to survive.”

Bellamy continued cradling her face in his hands, reluctant to let go. He ran his thumb down her cheek as he asked, “And why’s that?”

Clarke could hear Murphy stomping down the hall (she had a feeling he was being loud on purpose, and the thought made her laugh now) to come collect them. She straightened and tenderly pulled his hands away from her, though she tangled her fingers with his. “I’m not letting you go after that, Bellamy Blake.”

* * *

 

After, as she sat on the rover and stared up at the night sky, looking for the light of the Ark, it was the memory of his brilliant smile that broke her heart the most.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are familiar with lye and how it works on the skin, and if you see that I got something wrong, can you please tell me? I won't fix it in this fic, but I want to know for future fics. Also, I don't want to imply when I have Bellamy tell Clarke that she's stronger than this that people who have panic attacks are weak. I suffer from panic attacks weekly, I know it's not a strength issue, it's a literal chemical and physical fuck up in your brain. I'm more thinking that Clarke doesn't actually have an anxiety disorder, it's just that with everything that's been happening, she finally broke down for a little bit. So yeah. Let me know what you think!


End file.
